‘We have a chapterhouse there,’ Bevier replied. ‘I visit it from time to time.’

‘Are there any shrines or holy places there?’

‘Several. But pilgrims seldom travel in winter.’

‘They do if they get paid. We’ll hire some – and a clergyman to sing hymns as we go along.’

‘It’s got possibilities, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘Martel doesn’t really know which way we’re going when we leave here, so his spies are going to be spread fairly thin.’

‘How will we know this Martel person?’ Bevier asked. ‘Should we encounter him while you’re in Cippria, I mean?’

‘Kalten knows him,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and Talen has seen him once.’ Then he remembered something. He looked over at the boy, who was making a cat’s cradle to entertain Flute. Talen,’ he said, ‘could you draw pictures of Martel and Krager?’

‘Of course.’

‘And we can conjure up the image of Adus as well,’ Sephrenia added.

‘Adus is easy,’ Kalten said. ‘Just put armour on a gorilla and you’ve got him.’

‘All right, we’ll do it that way, then,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Berit.’

‘Yes, Lord Sparhawk?’

‘Go and find a church somewhere – a poor one. Talk with the vicar. Tell him that we’ll finance a pilgrimage to the shrines in Madel. Ask him to pick a dozen or so of his neediest parishioners and to bring them here tomorrow morning. We’ll want him to come with us as well – to be the caretaker of our souls. And tell him that we’ll make a sizeable contribution to his church if he agrees.’

‘Won’t he ask about our motives, my Lord?’

Tell him that we’ve committed a dreadful sin and want to atone for it,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘Just don’t be too specific about the sin.’

‘Sir Kalten!’ Bevier gasped. ‘You would lie to a churchman?’

‘It’s not exactly a lie, Bevier. We’ve all committed sins. I’ve sinned at least a half-dozen times this week already. Besides, the vicar of a poor church isn’t going to ask too many questions when there’s a contribution involved.’

Sparhawk took a leather pouch from inside his tunic. He shook it a few times, and a distinctive jingling sound came from it. ‘All right, gentlemen,’ he said, untying the top of the pouch, ‘we’ve reached the part of this service you all enjoy the most – the offertory. God appreciates a generous giver, so don’t be shy. The vicar will need cash to hire pilgrims.’ He passed the pouch around.

‘Do you think God might accept a promissory note?’ Kalten asked.

‘God might. I won’t. Put something in the pouch, Kalten.’

The group that gathered in the innyard the following morning was uniformly shabby – widows in patched mourning, out-of-work artisans and several hungry beggars. They were all mounted on weary nags or sleepy-looking mules. Sparhawk looked at them from the window. Tell the innkeeper to feed them,’ he said to Kalten.